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Recommended If You Wanna Get Stuffed
Member Name: 1st2thebar
Date: 27/09/11, updated on 27/09/11 (99 review reads)
Advantages: Satisfies stomach storage (within reason)
Disadvantages: Yeast lounges in your stomach as if it owns the place
As a maturing gent, my opinion of 'The Hut' is garnished with nostalgia, deep red plastic, and corrugated menu's the size of a surf board. Years ago, I was selected to make a salad sky-scraper out of mini celery sticks, cucumber, lettuce, and then layer the foundation with cubed crotons, sweet corn, bacon bits and cherry tomatoes. The salad concoction had to be glued together with the collection of 'blue cheese', and 'Thousand' sauces available at the edge of the salad bar. All this had to be achieved inside a normal shell shaped bowl - layer upon layer until the salad sky scraper towered over the bowl resembling a round 'Leaning Tower of Pisa' - lopsided, a congealed salad orgy. 'Hut' customers would stare at your concentrated walk back to your saucer-eyed family - the only three willing the construction to be fully intact, before dismembering. Eyes in close proximity to them were pouring scorn, mouthing the words, 'such greed' - then as soon as they receive their salad bowl, they concoct a vast salad construction of their own.
I've descended on several 'Pizza Huts' in London - however I leaned towards Croydon whenever that doughy urge swoons in from my belly. Odd eating pattern that simulates a homing pigeon - maybe it's the spacious interior - primitive signs on the walls - a lesser chance a moron would timely bump into you whilst on the precarious voyage back to the systematically wiped hygienic table. Very civilized, courteous people in Croydon; the place is riddled with articulate Ralph Steadmans' - who gently dab their hooters, rather than blowing grotesquely amplified squelches out of them. Each time I check-in - the same well mannered folk and staff fill out the vicinity; loyal to 'The Hut' - I assume they've been there since they were wearing grey shorts and floral petticoats. Now they've filled out presumably with dough, they've amalgamated with the place, inside and out.
'The Hut' in Croydon isn't like a fast food outlet, partly due to the lack of pace generally. Your allowed to amble your way through a Frisbee sized 'four seasons' at your leisure; ooze out your time in slow motion, as if doing everything underwater. The staff motto being - "Your pizza will be ready in twenty minutes. Thank you for your patience". And again on pizza arrival, - "Thank you for your patience". At least I can be assured that this 'Hut' outlet takes pride in on not poisoning their customers and lovingly dresses up and cooks the pizza ready for annihilation and being scoffed. A little emotional sniff was detected when the waitress loaded the table up with garlic bread, two half fat Cokes and the two pizzas; one pepperoni with a collection of peppers and a four seasons which plastered the dough base with cheese. I was tempted to blurt out to the dainty waitress that the pizzas were going to a good home - so no need to get emotional. Instead I delved into the deep pan, the thought was long gone - belly satisfaction my priority.
The airy deep pan slice embarked on its epic task of getting basked in saliva and chomped to a pulp ready for its journey through each chamber of digestion. The familiar yeasty taste is worryingly addictive - the flavour sends off flirty signals to the brain; by which the brain responds with a 'yum'. And worse still it remembers the experience and that's when the birth of the doughy craving starts. Like an impatient three year old, the brain starts dictating to the belly; hence; the birth of spare tyres. And why 'The Hut' has been in existence since 'Luna 2 crashed onto the surface of the moon (1959)'. Obviously the control crew was enjoying a pizza. 'The Hut' corporation tinkers with layering - different levels of seating, even on the flat grounded establishments they seem to raise the flooring for some 'Titchmarsh mini Decking' adjacent to a fresh flowery face, saying the standard 'niceties on arrival.
Having Got Stuffed
Never managed to polish off a whole pizza - I'm beaten by the dough as it expands in my stomach, stretching out, as if on a holiday lounger. At this point I'm thankful for the robust air-con, it evaporated any beads of perspiration I would have had. In the corner, next to the salad bar's laminated arena; I spied an 'ice-cream maker' plus an additional 'Willy Wonka' styled enterprise of sweet toppings - naturally for the hardened obese who have not yet been beaten by the mountain of dough they've just devoured. How could it be even contemplated? Suddenly the stench of yeast that just passed by, left me inwardly reeling; at once, I was aware of the overpowering pizza odors, my stomach grumbled in a complaining manner, as if I was force feeding it. This always happens. I get reminded of it for a week tops and then the memory subsides - until I get another yeast pang.
Summary: The Hut - should upgrade to a mansion